


Nobody Else

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Series: Nadadel [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Funerals, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is their adad's funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mira_Meliandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Meliandra/gifts), [AI07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/gifts), [Rosa_Cotton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/gifts), [Bofur1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/gifts).



He's far too quiet and Óin doesn't know what to do. Their adad is to be buried today. Perhaps this will coax out a few words, though he feels awful for hoping so.  
  
"Come on." Óin says, taking the bowl of cold, untouched porridge from where it stands forlornly before his sibling. "Time to get washed and dressed, brother."  
  
Glóin looks startled, but says nothing, slowly getting up, eyes low. He's very unhappy, but is still refusing to tell him- a new custom of his.   
  
Óin hesitates. He shouldn't, but he does and eventually touches his brother's shoulder. He should be holding him, comforting him, but to take on that responsibility is too much. He will truly be a gêmadad if he does. "It'll be done with soon. Go on."  
  
His brother obediently pads off, leaving Óin, already clad in the only blue items he owned. Blue-dyed clothes are expensive to buy. How their parents and cousins raised the money to buy themselves and their children such items is anyone's guess. But that is not important, not now.  
  
He is a son of Durin, he needs to be strong and solemn. He can't be distracted by the dark, shimmering blue of the strange, smooth fabric. Still, his fingertips stroke it, tug at it. He wants to be wearing his grey tunic, made of normal, cheap material, not this frighteningly pretty, expensive fabric.  
  
Mother and Father sometimes dabbled in merchant work. That was it. They must have had a good trade.  
  
How long has Glóin been upstairs? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Leaving the bowl to soak in the washing-up bowl, he makes his way to his sibling's bedroom.   
  
He's dressed, and he's clean, which is good. But his hair, which has always been too thick for its own good, seems to be giving him a problem. Óin clears his throat.   
  
"Why did you not say you need help?"  
  
Glóin says nothing, but places his brush down. Óin carefully brushes it smooth, not wanting to hurt him by pulling. Once satisfied, he takes a segment of red from his brother's left side and deftly braids it. Taking another piece of hair from the right, he copies his earlier action and bonds it together with the bronze clip Sannith had crafted for her youngest child's last nameday. He traces the runes and catches his brother's eye in the tiny looking-glass.  
  
"Are you ready?"

* * *

  
  
  
He's not ready. But he numbly nods and lets himself follow his big brother.   
  
His brother doesn't seem as he once was. He's turned cooler, distant. He doesn't seem to want to get close to him anymore.  
  
Part of him wants to shout, scream, cry, do something that will earn his sibling's attention, but there's another part, bigger, and it just wants him to stay quiet and rest his tongue. His mind cannot be rested, though.  
  
It's all happened very quickly.  
  
As they reach the door, Óin's hand briefly touches his wrist. His fingers flinch and latch onto Óin's pinky finger. His brother freezes and looks down at their linked hands. Painfully, Glóin lets go. Óin pauses before opening the door and letting the first rush of cold February air inside.

* * *

  
  
There are visitors from afar. Dáin is very sorry he can't come, but has sent what appears to be a small army in his place. Solemn strangers apologise to him, converse about what a fine warrior Adad was and how it is a true pity he has now passed. Óin tries to be polite, but he can't stand these strange people talking about his father and quickly replies to their statements before manoeuvring his brother to their cousins.   
  
Finally, people they know.  
  
Now they are here, he notices that Glóin is much closer to his side. Soon they will be standing before their father's casket. He hopes Glóin is too small to see him. Though his brother has seen him dead, it was only briefly and was directly after the dwarf passed. Now....Óin shivers to think what their father may look like. He shall be covered in a cloth of white, embroidered with gold thread- all that can be afforded, but it will be turned back so Mahal may see one of his children will indeed be soon reunited with him.   
  
He prays Glóin will not see.

* * *

  
  
  
It feels as though they are going to their executions. The casket is being carried their way. Soon it will be lain at the feet of their juzral and he shall pray to Mahal for safe passage to his stone halls. Then they will watch the rites. The covering shall be pulled back. The juzral will place a gold coin in their father's hand for good fortune. The wedding band will be removed and given to them for when they may get married someday. A raven was caught last week and gave them a shiny black feather from his tail which will be placed in his his other hand to be used as proof that he is of Durin's line.   
  
He would give all the gold in the world to have their parents both alive and well.  
  
The casket has been placed down. The juzral is praying. Soon, Adad will be revealed to them. His brother's eyes are tightly closed.  
  
When the prayer ends, the juzral slowly peels back the covering, sparks of gold hitting the light.   
  
He can't see Adad very well. All he sees is the now white hair, the glint of sapphires over his eyes. These will stay with him. The juzral lifts their father's hand and gently works the thick gold band off his finger. He carefully places his hand back down and places the ring in a copper box before walking to them. He is offered the ring first. He is the younger child, Adad was the younger spouse. But he cannot take it.  
  
"It does not belong to me," he whispers.  
  
The juzral doesn't mock or berate, but gives him an understanding look before giving it to Óin instead.   
  
He very much wants a hug. But this is not the time nor the place. The raven's feather is placed in Gróin's left hand. A prayer is uttered for his safe passage. The gold coin is placed in his right hand. Another prayer is uttered so that when he is reincarnated he may be prosperous.  
  
"Would you like to come to say farewell to him?"  
  
No, he wouldn't, selfish as it sounds. He can't say goodbye. His brother looks dubious, too, but both know they can't refuse. They slowly step over.   
  
Oh Aüle.  
  
Adad is pale, too pale, and he looks scrawny, no longer the dwarf they grew up with. The sapphires look heavy and he wants to push them away, but Óin has a gentle hand on his wrist. He, too, is lost for words. They both stare and blink. Adad is gone. It's only them now.  
  
And that is terrifying.

* * *

  
  
  
He just wants to get himself and Glóin home, but there are people still milling around. He makes an effort to try and focus on his trembly little brother. He wants him to eat, he didn't eat his breakfast this morning, and is in the process of trying to coax him into eating a piece of bread, when he sees the juzral. He sighs and straightens up. The juzral needs to know what he wants inscribed on his father's tomb. He gently opens his brother's hand and places the bread on its palm.   
  
"Try and eat, please. I'll be back soon."  
  
He passes one of Dàin's people, but only gives him a nod. The juzral will know what he is thinking and shan't start telling him the obvious. And he doesn't want to talk to one of them again. They talk too much and listen too little.

* * *

  
"You are Lord Gróin's secondborn, are you not?"

  
Glóin nods. He feels very tired and the bread looks rather appetising. He should've eaten his breakfast this morning. He tears a piece off and nibbles on it. He really doesn't want to talk about Adad and hopes this stranger will go away soon.  
  
Unfortunately, he doesn't.   
  
"I wonder what shall happen to you."  
  
Well, what does he think will happen? He'll stay with Óin, won't he?   
  
"Lord Óin is very young."   
  
"Mmm."   
  
Óin has always been his big brother, the 'old' one, but recently he's been forced to see there really is little difference between them in terms of age. Óin's trying to be a grownup and this highlights his youth.  
  
"Maybe you shall go to your cousins."  
  
Wait, what?   
  
His cousins? But.... No, he can't! He belongs with his big brother, he needs him! As much as he loves his cousins, he wants to stay with his brother. Why does he have to go to them? Does Óin not want him?  
  
Bowing his head, he leaves the dignitary and hurries away. He does not see his brother returning as he escapes through a small door.

* * *

  
  
Strange. Where is Glóin going? He makes to follow him, but is stopped by a dignitary wearing Dáin's sigil.   
  
"Ah, Lord Óin! Terribly sorry about this, young man..."  
  
"Thank you, milord. Excuse m-"  
  
"You'll miss your brother awfully, I expect.."  
  
"Well, I'll get him quickly, and- what?"  
  
"Well, now that both your parents have passed, with you barely being of age, you can't be expected to take care of your brother."  
  
Óin stares at him. "What?! Of course _I_ shall care for him! He is _my_ brother, is he not?"  
  
"Yes, but you are very young-"  
  
"I'm of age! I am no beardling, I can look after him!" People are looking. The Princess and Prince look concerned. Balin is coming over, but Óin cares not. "My parents are dead. And he needs _me_ , nobody else!"  
  
"How can you care for him when you are _barely_ out of childhood?"  
  
"There are seventy-year-olds running _kingdoms_. I assure you I'll be able to look after my 62-year-old brother. Now, if you will excuse me, milord, I need to find him."

* * *

  
  
He wants to be left alone and curls against the wall as footsteps echo. Then a voice speaks.  
  
"Brother?"  
  
What's Óin doing here? How did he find him? He can't understand it. They've been so distant and if he is to be with his father's nephews, why has his brother come?  
  
Óin gently holds his shoulders, turning him so their eyes meet. This is the most contact they've had in weeks. Again that urge to cling and weep flares up, but Glóin ignores it. He has to.  
  
"Tell me," Óin whispers."Tell me what's wrong."  
  
There's so much. His parents are dead, his brother is leaving him, and he feels utterly alone. He can't say it all and closes his eyes, shaking his head.   
  
"Did he tell you that you'd end up with our cousins?"  
  
Glóin nods. He can feel his eyes prickling and opens them a fraction, training them upon the floor.  
  
"Oh, brother mine, that isn't true!"  
  
"But..." He's aware of how rusty his voice sounds. He's not used it in days. "I thought you didn't want me with you anymore."  
  
"Why would you think so?"  
  
The urge to throw his arms around Óin and hold onto him in hopes a sense of security will return is back, and stronger, and he pins his arms to his sides. "I-I...I barely saw you these past weeks." The words sound childish to his own ears as he softly mumbles."I can't get close to you anymore."

* * *

 

Óin sighs softly. This is what he feared. Pressing his forehead to Glóin's, he gently tucks some of his brother's flowing hair behind his ear. "Nadadith, look at me."

Dark eyes meet his own.  Glóin's are just a fraction lighter than his and they look uncertain and afraid. 

"The day I abandon you will be the day when fish walk and mountains fall. You are my brother and I love you." Glóin is trembling, his eyes closed again and Óin presses a quick kiss to his forehead and wraps his arms around his brother's smaller frame. Glóin holds fast to him, suddenly fierce in his affection, and buries his head into his shoulder.

They hold onto each other for quite some time, only the sound of their  hitched breathing breaking the silence. Finally, these noises stop and Óin wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and Glóin turns his head  so that his ear is pressed to his brother's chest, his sore eyes blinking. They still haven't let the other go. 

"We're going to have to go out there eventually," Óin announces, but he makes no move to go.

Glóin has found a lock of his brother's hair and is playing with it, twisting it 'round his finger. He pulls a face. "I don't want to talk to _them_ again," he says.

"I know, lad." Óin tells him. "But Durins do not hide and we shall stay together. Yes?"

Glóin is quiet for a while, thinking this plan through, but eventually nods and loosens his hold. "Yes," he agrees.

They can't go out there with eyes red-rimmed and hair rumpled. They try to neaten the other's hair (well, Óin tries to neaten Glóin's hair) and soon enough they head toward the door, hands clasped. 

 

  
_________________________________


End file.
